


Dust motes dancing

by Unpronounceable



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Not-mute Kurloz, Pre-Accident Mituna, The human kind of pale I guess, There's no sex and they're not boyfriends just fyi, Zombie Apocalypse, Zombies, tags will be added as they are required
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-04
Updated: 2014-11-16
Packaged: 2018-01-07 09:11:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 17,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1118114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unpronounceable/pseuds/Unpronounceable
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As mentioned before, the zombie apocalypse is something that's actually gone and happened. Hundreds of video game nerds and comic book enthusiasts took great joy in this opportunity to live their fantasies, but they smiles were torn from their faces when they realized there was nothing to it but death, and they would never get to slay hordes of mindless beasts with a machinegun.<br/>You suppose you have it better than most. At least you're actually alive.</p><p>Your name is Kurloz Makara.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue of sorts

One good thing about the zombie apocalypse is how it brings people together.

Okay, yeah, no. It does the opposite.  
It turns the gentlest of people into hardened killers and pacifists into fighting machines.  
It takes a boy who really just wants to keep the peace and forces him to grow up and face the world in all it's disgusting, wretched glory all in the span of a year.  
It takes a quiet young man who is already numb to fighting, and makes him vulnerable to something else entirely.

* * *

 

Your name is Kurloz Makara. 

As mentioned before, the zombie apocalypse is something that's actually gone and happened.  
Hundreds of video game nerds and comic book enthusiasts took great joy in this opportunity to live their fantasies, but they smiles were torn from their faces when they realized there was nothing to it but death, and they would never get to slay hordes of mindless beasts with a machinegun.  
The thing was, America had dug itself into a ditch at the worst possible time.  
There were feuds among nations and of course the bald eagle would not back down, and when disaster such as this strikes, something so unknown and dangerous and fast-spreading, no one really offered to come and give you a hand out of the chaos.  
You figure some help came, you think you remember a major evacuation plan somewhere further south, but it obviously didn't reach you. When four rescue teams were killed almost instantly, hope was out and people gave up.  
Now there's just a few stragglers here and there trying to make it through another day, and the shambling remains of people who have gotten infected somehow. 

You didn't lose much, aside from a comfortable home and the luxuries of civilization and internet.  
You're somewhat worried about your little brother, but he's shown that he can handle himself.  
Wherever he is, you're certain he's doing alright.  
That's what you tell yourself.  
You can't afford worrying, not these days.

You suppose you have it better than most people. You practically didn't have a family, except for your little brother, but the teenage years did something to him and you hadn't seen him in a while when you started to hear the screams.  
Other people's greatest folly is keeping themselves from killing.  
They hesitate as they're stared down by a humanoid monster, and the hesitation rips out their throat and the soft spot on their stomach and they instinct not to kill kills them. You don't have this issue. From the moment your neighbour growled wetly at you, you had no qualms about digging the shovel into her jaw and splitting it like an eggshell.  
It was even kind of entertaining.  
You're not some crazed murderer with a sadistic streak (only a very slight one), but when you hear a wet crunch you know you finished a motherfucker and did a good job of it. And this is why you're still alive. 

 

You deftly step around the corner of the building, making as little noise as possible.  
There's a group of daywalkers out there, rasping and gurgling, but you managed to sidestep them and hopefully you won't be noticed. It's been somewhere around a month or two since civilization pretty much collapsed.  
Or it could be more, or less, you don't know really. You've lost track of time something fierce.  
Today is another day, you're still alive, and that's all that matters.

Around the corner you just turned, you hear footsteps. Looks like you managed to attract attention to yourself after all.  
You flatten yourself up against the wall, squeezing the handle of your club. If you put power into this, you could knock it so off-kilter that you could walk away without making a noise, and subsequently not have a hoarde gaining on you, although for the past few days (weeks) you've been so stressed that you'd almost welcome a good, stress-relieving fight.

The daywalker is close now, very close, so close you can hear it breathe.  
Without thinking much of it, you round the corner as you swing, putting the force of your step behind it as the club collides with its head- too high up, it's smaller than you thought, this won't crack a skull at all- and sends it into the wall and on the ground.  
You're about to step on its throat to stop any sound from escaping, and your foot is even halfway on it, when you notice that's it's an unusually healthy colour.  
Not even a little mauled or rotten.

This is a living human being, the first one you see in a long time.  
And you just knocked him unconscious.

You lower your foot an examine him. Small, dirtied and somewhat bloodied, as expected, doesn't look at all equipped to be dealing with post-apocalyptic chaos. If you left him here, let the corpses turn him, it'd be natural selection more than anything else.  
You turn away.  
You think about crawling into some corner to sleep, again, thinking over past times, again, and waking up, again, to face the next day, again.  
You turn again and hoist the boy into your arms, he's small in comparison to you and pretty light, and it's not really an issue at all.

A gun falls from the pocket of his hoodie and clatters on the ground. Not so defenseless after all.

You decide to take him to the somewhat abandoned apartment you've been inhabiting for a couple of days.  
Food's running out and the floors are mostly unstable, but it'll do for now. Plus, he won't be able to run away from the third floor.  
He wakes up briefly on your walk there, which you suppose means you didn't scramble his brains.  
He looks at you and mumbles something but ends up resting his head against your collarbones and either falls asleep or sinks into unconsciousness.  
Either way, he doesn't give you any trouble, and makes it alive to the apartment.

You lay him on the floor, with a pillow supporting his bruised head, and sit down in the far corner. You're not sleeping with a stranger nearby. That would be stupid, and stupid isn't how you stay alive.  
You don't sleep, but you do zone out something bad, probably from spending too many nights forcing your eyes open.  
When you gather your mind, the boy is very much awake, and very much climbing out your window.  
You sit up quickly and he notices, dives through the window and though you at first think he just offed himself, he grabs onto the fire escape next to the window.  
Clever motherfucker.  
You make a dash for the window as well, and he yelps, swings himself over the railing and starts running down the stairs.  
Raising your eyebrows ever so slightly, you pull out the gun you took from him and click it.  
He hears you, somehow, as if the gun was calling for him, and looks up in alarm. You don't blink. He thins his lips and looks from you to the gun and back again, and you motion patiently for him to get the fuck back up here.  
You're not sure why, you just don't think you'll let him leave just yet. Maybe he has something valuable on him, maybe he stole something of yours, maybe he has a gang nearby. You can't risk that, you don't trust groups.  
He climbs back, resignedly, all the while keeping an eye on the weapon. You keep the weapon's eye on him. Once he's by the window again, he tries to pretend he can't make it.

"Look, how about I go up the stairs and meet you in the other room? I won't run or nothing, swear to-" You sigh and motion for him to get the fuck on with it. He seems to realize you're not in the mood for his bullshit.  
You watch as he makes it back to the windowsill with no real effort. He's like a damn monkey or something.  
When he's back inside, your gun still trained on him, he grins weakly and, in all his big rainbow-hoodie converse-shoed glory, he weakly chuckles "Hardcore parkour, bitch".

You don't laugh.


	2. Disarmed

As it turns out, the guy is a chatterbox. He seems to feel obligated to talk because of your own silence.  
You have come very close to shooting him, multiple times.  
First, when he's done being awkward and gotten used to the gun staring him down, he says that he thought you were a fuckin' zombie dude 'cause you were like staring off into space and there's not a lot of stoners left so a'course he made like a tree and left, what was he gonna do, make you eggs and bakey and wake you up from your weird trance thing?

When you don't answer, he asks if you can hear him. You answer by frowning and pointedly shoving the gun against his chest. He raises his hands and tells you to chill.  
He sits in relative silence for a bit, which is a much too short bit, before you hear a small springy noise and he grins, the motherfucker grins at you, and asks "Don't s'pose you got any food, bro?"  
You almost admire his nerve. Almost.  
When you do nothing but stare at him some more, he throws his hands up and huffs.

"What, are you just gonna wait until I starve to death? Whaddaya want from me, huh? You got my gun, unless you want my kicks I don't know why you haven't shot me or let me go yet!"

If he wants you to kill him, you'll do him the favour. Not with the gun, though, too much noise.  
Before he has time to startle, you walk up to him in three long strides, and your hand is on his neck just as he tries to shout, cutting off the sound. Nice and silent.  
You squeeze his throat and he claws at your hand, choking out some unimportant noise.  
You look into his eyes, wondering how it'll look when he dies, you've never seen it happen up close before.  
He looks back at you.  
One of his eyes is brown, the left one, and the other is intensely blue.  
He has freckles on his nose.  
His eyelashes are a rather light colour.  
He stops scrabbling at your hand, and just stares back, and he looks calm and defiant and you think a loud mouth isn't all he has to his name.  
And you can't do it. You can't kill him.

The thought that you don't have what it takes to end his life comes close to scaring you, but you don't let it. Instead you shove him against the wall and back off.  
He continues looking at you while he rubs his neck, gauging your movements, tense like a wound spring with this serious and determined look that looks both out of place and fitting.  
You berate yourself for underestimating him, obviously he's not as stupid as he looks, sounds and acts, he would have never survived.  
No, he's not physically strong, but he's clever.  
There is a long heavy silence before you talk.

"Who are you with?"

Your voice is hoarse since you haven't used it in a wile, and it feels deeper than it used to, but that's probably just your imagination.  
The boy squints at you before answering, "No one."  
You watch for the telltale lying signs, but you see none.

Now that you know that, and that he doesn't have any of your stuff, and he doesn't have anything that could benefit you that you don't already have, you're completely at loss about what to do with him. Something in you tells you not to kill him, but at the same time you feel like you can't just let him go.  
It's as if he reads your mind.

"Are you going to kill me?"

You don't answer.

"Are you going to let me go?"

You still don't answer, you don't know, and it feels like you're the one being attacked now.  
Just as you reconsider throwing him out just to be rid of this uncomfortable indecisiveness, he seems to drop the defensive air as easily as a penny and he grins harmlessly at you again, raising his eyebrows.  
  
"So d'you have something I can eat? Not gonna lie, bro, I'm starving."  
  
The gun in your hand doesn't matter; you're disarmed.  
You have no idea how to deal with this.  
Everything you've been taught, by yourself and others, about how to react in certain situations with certain people to make sure you survive society, it's all nothing when this ignorant boy with his foolish grin hardly reacts to you attempting to kill him and instead asks for food.

You're just…confused, now.

So, for a lack of better things to do, you walk over to the corner where your backpack is, find a can of corn, and toss it to him.  
He doesn't catch it, it hits him in the elbow and he yelps.

"Wow, heads up much?"

That sentence doesn't even make sense.  
He easily yanks open the lid, digging in with his fingers without hesitation and humming appreciatively while chewing.  
The urge to silence him is so much more annoying when you know you can't do it.  
He acts like he hasn't eaten in weeks, and maybe he hasn't, the glimpse of wrist you see from his sleeves are achingly skinny and the hoodie could easily hide his physique.  
But wait, that's right, you shouldn't care. You don't.

"Sho," he says between the corn in his mouth, "r'we like a team now, o'wha'?"  
You scoff and don't answer. Fuck this kid.  
He doesn't seem to understand the scorn you put into the scoff, and his cheeks dimple when he smiles.

"I'm Mituna."

You'll ditch him later. He'll only drag you down. He won't be able to keep up. He's going to be dead within a month. There is no reason for you to get familiar with this stupid child.

"…Kurloz."

He nods and keeps eating, and you open your own can of something or other and eat too, because you are hungry and you need to keep yourself nourished while you can.  
You realize belatedly that you're not looking at him anymore, keeping an eye on him, but you dismiss it as not important.  
It's clear you can easily overpower him, you think to yourself, and if he escapes, who cares, it's his choice.  
He is no threat to you.

But he is.  
He's the biggest threat of all.  
But you won't know that until later.


	3. Sunlight

 

You still don't trust Mituna, that would be foolish. He, however, displays a strange amount of trust for you, and lays down on the ruined, smelly bed after he's finished his dinner, tugs the hood of his sweater over his eyes, and sleeps.

You don't believe for a second that he's really asleep. The boy is a fox and he's likely to steal all your chickens, metaphorically.  
You're not sure what that means, you haven't really slept at all lately. But that's just the kind of thing you need to toughen up and get used to.  
Don't give yourself any breaks, that's what your old man taught you, fight fire with fire and all that jazz.

  
You had to be the hard one to make sure Gamzee wouldn't get trodden into the ground. The boy was too soft, a little wrong in the head since he was a kid, and your father never really gave him the time of day. He'd have ended up dead if you hadn't taken him under your wing as your own little fucker to look after, however badly you did it.  
Who would have thought he'd end up exceeding you in the family traits?  
You really hope he's doing alright, wherever he is, and hasn't gotten himself into too much trouble.  
With that thought, you sit down in the corner with your legs stretched by the window in case someone tries to sneak in or out, determined not to give into your body's cries and fall asleep.

 

You fall asleep.

 

You wake up when the sun shines in your face, disoriented and blind for the moments it takes you to wake up enough to try to shield your eyes with your hand.  
A shadow falls on you and you can finally open your eyes, seeing only the silhouette of the boy surrounded by sunlight.  
If he wanted to, he could kill you right now. It would take skill, unless he'd maneuvered the gun out of your pocket, which is unlikely. But with a knife or something, he might have a chance, might show you sudden bloodlust and outmatch your skill and let you bleed out on the floor.  
You urge him to silently, you deserve as much for letting your guard down.

Instead he shoves his hands into the pocket on the front of his hoodie, rocking on his heels.

"Soooo, now that princess is awake, you headed somewhere specific? Because this town is blown, dude, there's fuckall left that's not dead and walking."

You're not surprised he's intent on following you. You don't think there's much that can surprise you these days.  
You stand up, make a grab for you backpack -it's food and some medical things and a few choice weapons and it's all you have, too much baggage makes you slow and muddles your priorities- and start down the stairs.  
You want to get as much walking done as you can while the weather's good, and the boy is right, there's nothing left here.

It's unusually warm out for how late it is in the year. You're not that far north, so it's not freezing yet, but your breath doesn't make steam in the air even though it must be six, seven in the morning.  
You came from the west so you're making your way east, you're not sure why, but you want to keep walking. It's not as if you have a destination in mind, just a place here and a stop there to rest and sleep. Just keep walking.  
  
You wouldn't mind if you bumped into someone you know, as long as they're alive.  
You're waiting for the day you see a zombie with dyed red hairtips or long, thin braids. Not dreading, not anticipating, just waiting, so you know who to cross out in your head. You don't think about your father, you don't think he can die. And Meulin…you don't really want to go there, not now. She had an unfair disadvantage to begin with, and thinking about seeing a corpse with wild hair and olive skin makes your gut twist, so you don't.

Gamzee had hightailed somewhere to a friend's place after some things got sour in your neighbourhood, and you suppose you may be subconsciously trying to aim for him, even though you don't know why. Lack of objectives or something.   
You really need to stop thinking about Gamzee.  
An annoying, thin sound cuts your thoughts short.  
Your new traveling partner is whistling.

You pointedly look at him waiting until he notices you because hell no you're not talking, and when he does there is nota hint of remorse on his face.

"Hey, you gonna give me my gun back?"

Your eyebrows are raised unamusedly. As if you're giving him a gun.  
  
"Look, I'm not gonna walk around this bitch ass world like a sitting fuckin' duck with no weapon, at least give me a knife or a toothpick or something, fuck!"  
  
You're sorely tempted to give him a toothpick, but you don't have one. He is right, though, leaving him defenseless would be cruel.  
You toss him a knife, and you don't even need to look to know he doesn't catch it. He swears, you think he called you a monkeyslut, and you suppress a snort.  
He trails behind you a little, his short form not easily catching up to your much taller one, as you knew it wouldn't.  
The sun keeps shining in your face, and you're sure you look like an idiot squinting all the time, so you glance back at your partner while trying to make your hair catch some of the rays.  
He's tied a stick to the knife, making it into some kind of spear thing. Good thinking, a knife hat short is useless against things that don't feel pain, this is at least a little more likely to save his life.  
He doesn't look at all discouraged about his poor weapon. His eyes are closed against the sun, as if he's relishing in it, and on his lips there's the tiniest little content smile.  
He's going to get his jugular torn out at this rate.  
You keep your hand on the gun.

You inevitably run into some infected.  
It just happens to be right when you're in between two houses, and they happen to be on both sides. They seriously got the drop on you, must have been hanging around this exact building, just the right place for your non-existent luck to dry out and leave you parched.  
Just as you hear a whisper-yell about the ones behind you, you stop short because of the ones in front of you and the kid bumps hard into your back. Too many, running for it wouldn't end well.   
It's not too bad, you've had worse, and your club does a great job of splattering the walls with dead and useless brains. You're used to cramped-space fights, it's your favoured kind, and you make fairly easy work of whatever comes near you.  
You're used to this fine-tuned dance, like you're standing on a line suspended in the air, almost falling, centimeters short of plummeting, but never actually losing your balance. Almost grabbed, almost bitten, but always just almost.

Then you hear the kid scream something, and you remember that you gave him a pretty useless weapon. It's currently rooted in an eye socket and he desperately tries to yank it free from the half-dead bastard but the tie breaks, leaving him with just a stick.  
You didn't think it would bring any trouble to have him on low defenses, after all you could shoot anything that got too close to him and you still didn't trust him with something as powerful as a gun. But truth be told, you're a horrible shot, and trying to aim at an undead in this fray might just be wasted bullets, or you could end up shooting he gun's owner.

You thought you were going to let him get killed by infected so you could say it wasn't directly your fault, just the way things were meant to happen. That was the subconscious plan. But right now, seeing the fear on his face, your mind is screaming that you made a mistake.  
Something possesses you to throw the gun at him. As soon as your fingers leave it, you know it was a stupid move, he can't catch anything and you aimed to high and you threw away your best weapon, you absolute  motherfucking idiot.  
The boy uses a zombie as a ramp, catches the gun as if it was attached to him with invisible string, stumbles, and shoots the head of the infected trying to pull him back by the hoodie.  
With a few good bangs, the way to out of the alley is clear. You'll have to run, but you can make it.  
He turns to you, expression like a stormcloud, and aims the gun at your face.

You failed. You're going to die.  
For some reason, before you instinctively duck and try to cover your head, you think about your birthday. How old will you be again?  
And then the gun explodes, the thunder cracks and lightning striked, but notyou, you feel no pain, and you realize you're still alive and he's pulling you by the arm and there's a dead body with half a head slumping over your back.  
He wasn't aiming for you, he aimed the slightest bit next to you and it took out a zombie behind you.  
You're shellshocked and being dragged back into the sunlight by converse shoes, wild hair and fierce aim.  
Your body takes the reigns and you both run while the sounds of the dead intensify behind you, until you duck through a glassless window and he follows you. He alarmed too many zombies with the gunshots, not that you're complaining, and you both need to lay low until things calm down out there and they lose track of where the sound came from.

You shove him into a bathroom and lock the door, hoping it'll do for now.  
If they can't see or hear you, they must leave eventually. It might be a while, you know how persistent they get, and if nothing else tickles their fancy they might roam around the area for a long, long while. At least you have food and a locked door. You'll get through this.

"Did I forget to mention I'm an ace shot?" a breathless voice huffs next to you, and when you look up he's smiling again.

"I'm keeping this, yo," he says and dangles the gun from his fingers.  
You don't object, it's in better hands than if it were in yours.  
You can see his hands shaking, and you realize yours are too, a little bit. You did come pretty close that time, not the closest you've been, but close.  
It never would have happened if you hadn't knocked this stupid kid out and decided to spare is life instead of ridding him of a worse fate and taking it.  
This stupid, stupid kid that ate your food and slept in your room and didn't shoot you and pulled you along when he ran for his life.  
But no, if anyone is stupid, it's you. You, who let him eat provisions and didn't kill him and opted to look out for him instead of giving him the means to do it himself or kill you but then threw those very means right at him.  
You're being naïve, you're foolish and you know it. And yet you let yourself slump against the door close your eyes briefly, sighing through your nose.

This has to stop.  
...Soon.

  
You both figure it's better to wait for a while before going back outside, better safe than sorry and all.  
The sun has started to descend when you shake awake the snoring pile lying in the bathtub and carefully open the door.


	4. Showers

The next few days are stressful. As it turns out all the commotion lured a lot of infected out of their hiding holes, and the town you thought would be an easy pass is suddenly crawling with danger. You don't make as much progress on getting out of the town as you'd have liked, and you realize that sharing supplies with a second party seriously cuts them short.  
Luckily, the boy holds his own when it comes to scavenging, though there's next to nothing here. The few times he spots a place he deems a little less hopeless than the others, he gets in there fast, no matter how impossible. He must have been some kind of gymnast before shit went down.  
  
You realize you've been referring to him as 'kid' or 'boy' for a while, but you have no idea how old he is. You thought he was definitely younger than you because he's short and stupid and wears clothes you'd see on a babyborn doll, but he could just as well be your age.  
It's not like it matters, but you keep coming back to it. Eventually, you cave in.  
  
"How old are you?" you ask him and successfully cut him off mid-talking.  
  
He actually pauses for a bit, scrunching up his nose before it dawns on him. You get it, it's hard to keep track of those things when you're trying to keep alive.  
"Nineteen last June!" he proclaims as if it's some kind of accomplishment, then halts, and the half-grin that's ever present melts off.  
"Fucking fuck, I'm never gonna be able to go to that strip club or nothing, all the hot chicks are probably dead! This is balls, man, why couldn't the fuckin' apocalypse wait three more years?"  
The continent is dead or dying and his major problem is not getting laid. Priorities.  
He looks at you expectantly, and you keep walking. He continues looking at you and makes some kind of flailing hand movement, to which you don't respond, so he does it again only more exaggerated.  
Why does he expect you to know what that means? You squint at him and he rolls his eyes, totally done with your bullshit it seems.  
  
"Tits for tat, man, you're supposed ta tell me how old you are."  
  
You're 99% sure the expression is not 'tits for tat', but you let it slide, because you're also 99% sure he'd make some crude joke about it if you mentioned it. He does that a lot.

You need to think a bit before you answer. You never celebrate birthdays, that was your little brother's job until he stopped caring.  
"…Twenty two," you finally reply although you won't be twenty two until January, and you're somewhat glad there isn't more of an age difference between you two. You have no idea why.  
Immediately his face turns into a cheshire cat's, and he nudges you with his elbow. You push him away with yours.  
"So, you been to a strip club then? Betcha have. What's it like?"  
  
You take back what you said about age difference, he is clearly still in his stupid teenage boy stage. You sigh.  
He opens his mouth to continue asking about your sexual life or something like that, but his voice is swallowed by thunder. You look up just in time to catch a raindrop in the eye, and then more pinch you in the shoulders and neck and everywhere they can. Rain is bad, rain wets your clothes and your food and that's very bad.  
  
You make a dash for the nearest building, jump the stairs and try to get inside. It's a four-story apartment, looks like, but it's locked. At least there's a protruding half-roof over the doors, so you're not being assaulted by water anymore.  
You almost startle when you hear a thump next to you and see Mituna dropping the backpack, rather carelessly too. Then he takes off his hoodie and throws it at you. You catch it and he doesn't even try to hide his disappointment in his failure of getting you in the face.  
You wonder what his deal is before he heaves himself onto the railing, looking at the almost-roof.  
Right, he's going to do his parkour thing.  
  
He slips a little on the slippery metal of the railing, and your stomach flutters. That's…that's strange.  
Before you have time to think on it, he gets that look on his face and swings his arms, once, twice and jumps, just barely clutching onto the house's concrete. You bet his stomach is going to be red after this.  
Like a cat, he crawls up and out of sight. The rain's coming down harder now, and you watch them drip just out of reach while you wait.  
There could be infected in there. You know Mituna has his gun tucked into his underwear, but that might not do it in such closed space. At least he left the backpack here, you'd have ripped it off him if he didn't.  
After some time, you hear a squeak, and out of the mail slot in the door come fingers.  
You frown.  
  
"What's the password?" comes from the door, and you can hear the shit-eating grin in the voice.  
You frown more and stay silent.  
  
"You're making it very hard on me to dick around, bro."  
  
You lean down, make your voice as low and breathless as possible and murmur "infected."  
He door is yanked open and he all but pulls you in, glancing frantically outside.  
"Shit, where?!"  
You walk into the house, trusting that if there was anything dangerous, Mituna would have disposed of it.  
"Oh my god, you were pulling my leg? You bastard, I actually felt guilty there!"  
  
A sound escapes you and you freeze, hoping he didn't notice.  
"Uh, did you just…?"  
You give him your most deadpan stare and walk up the stairs. There's always less danger upstairs.  
He tries to make you admit to laughing, which you definitely did not do, so you ignore him.  
You continue tuning him out until he's almost yelling at you, at which point you finally give him a glance. He looks pissed.  
"Were you listening at all?"  
No response. He sighs loud and heavy like he's dealing with a child. Ironic.  
"I said, we're going to take a shower, get butt nekkid."  
  
You can't help your facial expression at the thought. First of all, plumbing these days either does not work or have very questionable cleanness. Second, is he talking about sex because you are not fucking this kid and you might need to beat him up for the notion.  
  
"Christ, calm down your disgust, asswipe, I mean in the rain. You smell like you shat yourself six times over and probably me too, we're not going to have a lot of options to get clean when it's colder so it's now or never. I'm not trying to get in your fagpants, old man." Rude, you're just three years older.  
  
"But uh," he makes a show of looking you up and down, "let's not rule anything out, amirite?"  
You stare in bafflement until he starts guffawing.  
  
"Your face, holy shit, ahah-are you fucking blushing--"  
  
You take off your jacket and throw it in his face. He doesn't stop laughing.  
  
He does, however, have a point. Now that the tantalizing thought of washing off the sweat and grime is in your head, you can't get it out.  
Ignoring how wrong it feels to not be covered by layers of clothes, you strip out of the rest, hearing Mituna do the same. He's not at all modest, as expected, and chucks his wet clothes into a chair before opening the door to the balcony and stepping out and screaming about how cold it is.  
You follow, and yes, it is cold. Very cold.  
Your breath leaves you for a few seconds as your body protests the sudden change in temperature but you will it away, shaking your hair and rubbing your face with your wet hands. It's raining hard, so hard you can hear the hissing-rumbling noise it makes. Thunder rolls above you again, and you hear Mituna laugh.  
  
He's standing bent over and rubbing his wild hair fiercely, tossing it behind him and catching raindrops with his tongue. It's as if he's a kid playing in a sprinkler, with how happily he rubs dirt off his hands and feet with shaking hands and curses how cold it is.  
The chill feels weird, you remember the same feeling from swimming in a lake with Meulin once. It clamps down on your lungs and stomach and squeezes out the air, and you're feeling strangely giddy, standing in the downpour.  
You close your eyes against the water and try to get your hair as wet as possible, scrub every part of you that feels like it's dirty, and before you even give it thought you're smiling.  
Mituna hollers and woo-hoo's breathlessly, standing on an abandoned apartment's balcony, shouting at the world.

You need to pull him inside soon, lest you get sick.  
You're both a shivering, dripping mess once you're inside, but you feel more fresh than you have in a long time.  
You use your jacket to dry yourself off the most you can before putting on your clothes, relishing in the feeling of fabric on your skin. Mituna opens a closet, throwing out a couple of pillowcases before angrily shutting it again.  
  
"Must'a been summa the evacuates, there's no clothes or nothing here."  
He's still naked and his voice is jittering and hushed, and you remember that his clothes are wet from his climbing adventure, save for the hoodie he gave you.  
You throw it at him without looking, then go to the living room, yanking down the curtains. Mituna follows you, now in his sweater, and just as he asks what the fuck you're doing you drape the drapes over him.  
They're dusty and an ugly colour, but they're pretty soft and definitely better than nothing. Getting sick is not on the agenda.  
He moans and snuggles into the fabric, sighing. It's getting dark out and wind's been added to the rain, meaning you won't be walking any further today.  
  
You're surprisingly tired, considering the time of day, you guess an icy cold shower takes a toll on your body. It's like an unspoken agreement that you're just going to sleep here, despite the lack of mattresses in the beds.  
You don't intend to sleep for long, anyway, the less comfortable you are the more likely you are to wake up bright and early.  
The lack of comfort doesn't stop Mituna from quickly falling asleep, sitting against the wall next to you while the rain beats down on the windows. It's lulling, you're clean and tired and at peace for the moment. Mituna slumps against your shoulder.  
You consider shoving him off, but your own eyes are shutting, and you can't find the energy to move.  
Or the will, for that matter. Mituna's proven to be useful, and that's just about the best you can ask for in a survival partner.  
  
As long as he doesn't start drooling, you think as your nose is tickled by the drying, fluffy light-reddish mess that is Mituna's hair, and then you're out cold.


	5. Outskirts

 

It happens just as you're about to finally get out of the town, when you've reached the outskirts and can practically smell the hard-earned and difficult relative peace of the open roads.  
You're not even quite sure how it happens, it was fast and instinct took over for the most part.  
  
One moment you were walking, Mituna talking away about something or other from before anything went down and you nodding mutely along, and then there's a handful of zombies ambling towards you. You shake them off fairly quickly, but then there's more, and then more, and Mituna shouts something and suddenly it's like every single zed is hot on your trail.  
It doesn't even make sense, where are they all coming from? Why were there so many grouped just at the outskirts?  
  
You can't care right now, you have to focus on running. Your feet pound the ground hard enough that you can feel the vibrations surge through it.  
Mituna's small but agile and he keeps up with you, long enough for you to spy one of those outside cellar doors, and it seems to be open.  
Without dwelling on it you haul Mituna with you and fling the double doors open, there was no lock, relief numbs you as you bodily throw the kid down and jump in afterwards, grabbing the doors with you in your descent.  
They slam shut and you're airborne for a moment, long enough for you to think 'hardcore parkour', before you land in the small space and stumble to the ground. Not so hardcore parkour.  
  
The cellar is much, much smaller than you'd thought.  
It seems to be more of a wood storage than an actual room, and you think you may have miscalculated yourself badly. The thought is confirmed when you can hear the scratching, thumping and wild roaring when the rotten swarm the closed opening and try whatever their half-functioning brains can conjure to get inside.  
  
You're stuck. It's pitch black, you can only catch a very faint glint here and there that's nowhere near enough for you to see what it is that's glinting.  
You tense for a moment as you hear movement, but remember that you threw Mituna down.  
  
"Thanks for that, buddy pal, I so missed falling down on dirty floors. You wanna toss me into a river next? Maybe a wood chipper?"  
He doesn't sound pleased. Kind of breathless and pained.  
Ungrateful brat.  
You figure it's thanks to your lack of sight when you can actually hear him shrug, the soft whisper of fabric shifting as you imagine he's raising his shoulders in a totally exaggerated manner.  
  
"So, what now?"  
  
You have no idea.   
  
"Rest," you mumble, and sit down on the floor with your back to the wall. You need to think.  
"You have no idea what the fuck to do, do you?" When you don't answer, he barks a laugh, not a nice one.  
"Oh my god, you don't?! You actually don't! Did you just launch me into a damp ass cellar head first into a pile of logs just so we could rot here? Un-bee-lievable! Do those piercings go all the way to your brain, because you sure don't seem to be using it right, you dolt!"  
You can't glare at him in warning, so you do nothing.  
You want to growl at him, like an animal in warning.  
  
You want to throw him into a wall, you saved his motherfucking life, little shit would be charred and rotten on the street with hungry mouths choking down his flesh while the last blood bubble popped on his blue, clammy lips, should break his teeth on the wall tear that clever tongue out and see how pretty he sings without it let's see him say your name when he's got no tongue no air

It's not good sign when you start to think like that. Never has been.  
You turn away from him and his ramblings and think about whatever pops into your mind until you zone out.

  
It's silent for a long while, and time doesn't exist in the darkness. You think you've heard that people can go bona fide insane like this, trapped, scared and robbed of their senses.  
A hand on your arm evaporates the clouds from your mind and your eyes are confused when they have something to focus on, a sudden relief from the darkness thanks to an open window you spy on the wall next to you.  
Did you fall asleep?  
You may have dozed off for a few minutes. Stupid.  
  
You're aware that your hand is clamped down on the one on your person, you must have done it without realizing.  
The light isn't great but it's more than enough to make you kind of make out your surroundings. Nothing of importance but Mituna, crouched next to you.  
  
"Hey," he says again, as if you couldn't hear him the first time, "There's a window up there, it's open. I can fit through if I squeeze real hard. The zombies aren't going anywhere, they're still right outside, but not right by the window, so, y'know."  
  
You wonder how he even found a window in this darkness, and then you wonder what the fuck he's thinking, that's suicide, with all the dead out there he'd have to rely completely on headstart and speed. It's fifty-fifty chance, at best.  
He pats your shoulder awkwardly, taking your silence as approval like the idiot he is, and retracts it, stands up.  
Your hand chases his as you stand up as well, grabbing him and keeping him in place.  
"No way," is all you say, and he sighs impatiently.  
"Look I know it's risky, okay, I'm not fucking dumb, but we don't exactly have a lot of options here. I don't wanna suffocate like badly kept hamster, I'm going out with a bang. Don't worry, I'm leaving all the stuff here with you, I ain't no thief. …I mean, I _am_ , but not to you."  
  
He's being absurd, you need to tell him so, even if you have to use words you hate.  
  
"What do you plan on doing once you get out, huh? Swinging the doors open and letting me out? You ain't gonna make it nowhere with no supplies and no backup."  
He huffs at you, shrugs off your hand, and turns his back. You only barely see his silhouette against the slight light from the window, the glass has been painted black and it's only once it's open that any light filters through.  
"I have a plan. Trust me, bro, I'll be fine, I'll come back for you."  
  
Then the light is obscured, you're in darkness again, and you hear him shuffle, squeezing out the small window.  
It's a blessing he's so small and reedy, like a cat, fits his whole body wherever the head goes, and that head goes a lot of places.  
  
You let him go, what else can you do? He's your only hope right now, and any attempts to stop him would end in an unfair fight that wouldn't help none.  
Then he's made it out, you see his sneakers on the dead grass for a second before they're gone, and you wonder whether they were always red, or if it's the blood that's dyed them.

You attempt to return to your state of unconscious consciousness, but to no avail. All you succeed with is staring into the light of the window until it's all you see, and then some.  
You're acutely aware of your breathing, in a way you haven't felt in a while.  
  
When you're fighting, it's different, it's like swimming. You're don't pay breathing any attention, forget it, just move this way, that way, twist, hit, block, assault. You're aware of nothing but what's in front of you, and it's all you need.  
It's instinct, more than anything else.  
This is the same kind of state you went into after a nightmare.  
You used to have those a lot, still do, horrible ones that take your normally unused voice and tear it from your throat with a rip that has woken up entire households and their neighbours. You've terrified your little brother with them, shrieking in the nighttime and going deathly still and quiet afterwards.  
Stuck with the images in your head, feeling like something violated you, like your mind betrayed you and exposed you naked for anyone to see.  
Then, like now, you can feel your lungs expand and deflate, hear the breath rush out, hear your eyelashes flutter, feel your throat swallow, your heart beat.  
  
You wonder if Mituna gets nightmares. Wouldn't everyone, after this?  
Will he witness you have yours? Is it something you want?  
You don't even know anymore, you're uncertain and a little bit scared.  
You want him back in one piece dearly, that you know for sure, and you realize how absolutely fucked you are. You saw the one opening to ruin yourself, and you tripped into it headfirst.  
You close your eyes, that are watering from all the staring, and lean your head back, listening to the gurgles and rasps of the dead outside.

It's some time later that you hear a car alarm in the distance. You immediately perk up, your mind screaming a name you know, and your heart goes wild.  
You hear agitated sounds from the lips of the rotten, and hear some of them make their way towards wherever the sound is coming from, chasing the sensation on shaky legs.  
You hope to god it wasn't Mituna.  
If that stupid boy bumped into a car or something, he doesn't have a chance, and that won't be the bang he wants to go out with.  
It was definitely Mituna.  
You'd have seen people if there were any to be seen.  
Maybe he can get away, at least hide in a house or on a fucking lamppost like a monkey. He is pretty damn good at running away, the nasty little bug.  
Or maybe he won't. Maybe he doesn't go out with a bang, but with a car alarm and screams, being torn apart by monsters deaf to his pleas, who have no right to stain him with their claws, silence the incessant chatter that follows him like birdsong.  
Your stomach churns and you feel more hopeless and trapped than you ever have, standing in the dark like this.  
The car alarm goes on, but you don't hear the growls of the predators outside the door anymore.  
You don't risk going outside, in case there are still some hanging about, and besides, where would you go? You have to wait for Mituna, he'll be expecting you to still be here, dumb shit.  
You could go, take the supplies and just leave, but you also can't.  
  
It feels like it's only seconds of car alarm and anticipation later that you hear a crack.  
Your first thought is Mituna's gun, he needs it, if he's using it he's in trouble and it's all over, but light scorches your eyes and you throw up your hands to shield them.  
From the cracks of your eyelids, the rift of your protecting arms, you can see a silhouette again, blurry against painful bright, and you mindlessly step towards it and throw up your hand: it feels like the right thing to do, and you absolutely anticipate it when a hand clasps your arm and helps you up, into the light.  
Even though you can't see, the grip's become so familiar, there one moment and so tight so clenching and then gone, just as fast, because he does everything fast, and your feet hit the ground and you run again.  
  
You stumble a lot, eyes still not used to the change, but every time you stumble there's a presence that keeps you upright.  
You run and run, passing by zombies that are stumbling towards the car alarm, knocking them aside without even trying to fight. No time, now, you're almost there, almost there, you have a chance and you can't afford not to take it.  
  
Your eyes return to their normal functions and all you see is the outskirts of town, houses growing fewer and further in between, and you don't look anywhere but to the horizon, listening to the pants right next to you.  
Houses make way for plains and the paved road stretches on towards the clouded skyline, where the sun is setting, making the hills its grave and drowning the sky in soft, warm colours.  
  
You turn, finally, and he grins back at you from where he's leaning on his knees, out of breath and red in the face and wiping his mouth, momentarily drained of energy before it comes back on the double once he's recovered. He must have ran from the cellar and back, who knows how far, and then all the way here. His eyes are somewhat glazed and he coughs, spitting on the ground.  
  
"Told you...had a plan. Gotta…trust me better, bro."  
  
He's dead tired, swaying on his feet but looking smug, of all things, as if this was all one-upmanship.  
You have to bend down a little to reach under his arms, holding him up in yours, resting your temple against his head.  
  
This is too intimate, and you feel like you're committing some unspeakable wrong, but all this little miracle boy does is sigh and press his nose into your jacket, loosely looping his hands around your shoulders, and it feels alright.


	6. Gains and losses

You're out in the open now, which is nerve-wracking after spending so long dodging in between buildings and using walls as shields. There are no shields here aside from your own backs, and nothing to dodge behind but each other and skeletons of cars and the occasional underground. 

But you hardly encounter any rotters at all. You imagine not a lot of people were out on the roads when they were attempting to evacuate cities, and the ones that were out on the roads were in a car, and still are.  
There's a lot of cars, most if not all are wrecked and lying to the side of the road.  
  
Mituna says, while staring at a pile of overturned cars, that the most popular out-of-town roads were filled up with people, desperate to escape as far as they could even though every town was the same or would eventually fall in line with the other infected establishments. And when the roads were just completely clogged up, allowing no one past, some people -whether they were sent by officials, or just happened to own the right kind of cars and were too afraid to care about others- took snow-plows, bulldozers and such things and just plain cleared the roads, crushing and tearing cars away, killing and trapping and dooming multiple people.  
  
When he says it, he doesn't look sad, but he doesn't have any enthusiasm. It's just blank, like the information is an unfortunate but old fact that he feels obligated to mention, like a tired tour guide.  
You can sympathize with the tired part, you're pretty exhausted too.  
  
The constant paranoia, though often helpful, doesn't do much when you twitch awake at any gust of wind that strokes your skin or ruffles your hair. You tend to huddle up with Mituna at night, it can get pretty fucking cold and every tiny bit of warmth is too valuable to waste on pride and old habits, and he has the same problem. Every time he unexpectedly wakes up from something he sucks in a breath, and you notice every time.  
  
It is rare that you happen upon zombies, but it still happens.  
One such time, your boy is happily chatting away at the wind, and you're not really listening or responding, save for a nod and a hum here and there.  
He doesn't seem to mind.  
It's been windy all day, and both of your heads are ruffled with hair sticking out every which way. Mituna mentions that you both have an impressive mane, and you suppose you agree. It's not like you've had the time or the means to cut it, so yours is just long enough to tie the back of it in a little ponytail Mituna likes to bat at, and his only seems to grow upwards. You have never seen someone with hair that stays that crazy, even though it's matted and unwashed.  
There's a car askew in the dead middle of the road, some dark green family car that's definitely seen better days, but is at least upright. You have to walk to the side to clear it.  
Some of the gusts of wind hit heavily enough to make Mituna stumble every now and then, and he's loudly proclaiming that he's going to fly off and leave your stinky ass behind when you walk past the car, only to see pale and putrid corpses standing right in front of it.  
You step back so hard that you skid on the asphalt, and of course they hear you, with the wind right in their direction. At least seven expressionless faces turn towards you, and immediately you're under siege.  
  
You can only run so far without stumbling and twisting an ankle or getting tired, but that's not a problem for zombies.  
They'll chase you until you can't run anymore, catching up when you fall to the ground half dead from exhaustion, and kill you right there and then. In an open area like this, with no place to hide, you're nothing but easy prey.  
You don't really know what to do, your hands mindlessly clutch the clubs and maybe you can kill them before they kill you. When in doubt, resort to violence.  
You manage to smash in two heads, wondering where the fuck Mituna is as he's being no help and you don't see him in between the bodies surrounding you, but he has another idea.  
Of course he does.  
You're getting into position for the third killing when the car horn honks, loud and sudden, and throws you completely off balance. You startle so fucking much that you make some kind of honk yourself, but luckily no one hears it.  
Angrily, you turn to the car, this close to using Mituna as zombie food while you hit the road, and the absolutely ecstatic grin that meets you from the ragdoll hanging out the driver's window is nearly blinding.  
  
"Get in, loser, we're going shopping!" He all but screams at you, and you have no idea what that even means, you're in the middle of nowhere.  
  
But then you notice that the car is purring.  
For the while it takes you to fend off a hungry mouth aiming for your face, you're sure you must be hallucinating, but Mituna's making waves at you and he told you to trust him better, so you do.  
Once you're halfway in the passenger seat, there are hands tearing at your pants, and Mituna completely floors it, making the car screech and lurch forward and you barely manage to pull yourself inside and slam the door before your face gets greeted by the road.  
You try to huff at him but all your small noises of discontent are lost in his cheering, he throws his head back and howls like a wolf and you have to yell at him to watch the fucking road when the car sways ominously. He doesn't give a shit about what you say, too busy wearing the tires down.  
You're surprised he can drive, he's such a kid that it's easy to forget he's well of age.  
You're not even sure he has the legal license to drive, though that doesn't matter now. Who's going to pull you over, an undead cop upholding the law in a post-apocalyptic world?  
He has the technical ability to drive, but he does it more like a teenager sneaking out their parent's car than an adult going to the grocery shop. And even then, that's a generous way to put it, because judging by the way he moves and fiddles around he's winging half of it on the spot.  
But it's the best you can get, since you can't drive at all. Never tried.  
Like hell you're telling him that, he'll find a way to bring it up every hour on the hour.  
And besides, who are you to complain? You have a fucking car now, one that's actually running.  
That night, you fall asleep with no wind waking you up and no rustling keeping you alert, only Mituna's snores and the wind beating down on the windshield.

 

 

You pass what you think is a few days like that.  
It's a routine of drive, drive, check out that abandoned farm, kill zombies if there are any, scavenge what you can, drive, drive, sleep, drive some more.  
You have to stop frequently because there's a wrecked car on the road or a promising house somewhere in the relative distance or a corpse that seems lootable, but you can't afford passing up supplies. You have enough, for now, but it's always better to be safe than starving and sorry.  
  
You can see the next town up ahead, though it seems to be more of a city than a town. It's big, lots of houses. It's different, but it might be the change you need.  
You can only survive so and so long on nothing but rations and small towns.  
Plus, odds are you'll find gasoline that hasn't evaporated. Mituna's been talking about that a lot.  
  
You're in the middle of feeling the wind in your curls, keeping the window on your side half open while you're in clean air like this, when suddenly the car lurches and you slam your head into the door. The surprise of it makes it that more painful, and when you sit up to find out what the fuck that was about you see Mituna clutching his bleeding nose, probably from knocking it into the wheel.  
But that's not what you should be worried about, because people, too fast and coordinated to be dead, move into the scene with rifles aimed at you.  
  
Hands tear open the doors on both sides, and Mituna screams something and tries to reach the gun before he's bodily tugged out and thrown on the ground. So are you, though you come out standing, too tall for the other guys to manhandle.  
There is way, way too many of them, and they're way too well armed. This is a gang, a survivor group, and you're not a part of it.  
They're a pack of wolves and you're deer, with plenty of fat on you as well.  
  
One man, you guess he's around your age or a little older, pokes you in the back with a gun and makes you walk over to the other side, where Mituna is standing with his back to the car, hands in the air and scowling, eyes darting around nervously.  
The man who leads you there steps up in front of you, gauging you both with cold, grey, steely eyes.  
They're dull, like most are, having been too marred by the sights of the new age to shine like they used to, but they're also wild. Desperate, kind of, and that's not a good sign because those are the eyes of a man who no longer has much moral boundaries.  
  
"Well, well," he starts, and you show no reaction to the obvious bad-guy intro, "looks like you got a flat tire there, fellas."  
  
You look to your right, down at the road, and see a row of nails sticking out of a belt in the ground. So that's how they got you. Clever.  
You don't say anything and, to his credit, neither does Mituna. He's busy staring at the presumable gang leader with utmost contempt, like you haven't ever seen on him before.  
With a nod from their superior, some of the other guys search you, patting you down and removing what they find.  
You don't have much in your pockets save from a couple of food items and dust, but they find something more interesting on Mituna.  
When you hear him yelp you look over, and the man searching him has one hand on a gun trained on Mituna's head and the other down his pants.  
  
As if someone had pressed a button you surge towards them, but are stopped by the click of more than one gun.  
You stop, but clench your fists and your nostrils flare and you're not just going to stand by, not a way in hell.  
  
You don't give a fuck if they're looting, that's survivalism and you'd do the same if you could, but this is no shade of acceptable and it doesn't even matter who you are or who they are, you will snap all of their necks or die trying if they pull this kind of shit.  
Just a second later, though, they move away and the filth searching Mituna is holding a familiar and small gun and oh, of course, the idiot that is your companion keeps his gun in his underwear.  
They weren't trying to...yeah.  
You relax a fraction and realize that was a dumb move that could have cost you your life, but the bullets seem to stay in their guns for now.

They search the car too, mulling over your clubs for a bit before they realize those are too heavy to use as any kind of weapon, and throw them away.  
A couple roll a spare wheel and get to changing the torn up one, having obviously prepared for just this. They probably had a lookout to give a shoutout if a car approached.  
  
"Alright, well!" The head man claps his hands together, smiling around his cigarette. "This has been fun, but I think now's the part we take your wheels and everything in 'em. Sonny, go get th-"  
  
"What?! Wait, we found this car, you can't just leave us out here to-"  
  
The loudmouth idiot is silenced with a shove so hard it sends him crashing into the car, why did he have to open his big fat mouth can't he see these aren't the merciful cooperative kind they're going to kill him, and a man with black, curly hair raises the butt of his rifle to bash Mituna in the head, they're going to kill him.  
The attention is all on those two, so you use your chance to slip out of the grip on your arm and a second later find yourself in front of Mituna, pressing him into the car, tasting blood in your mouth. Where the aim was for Mituna's head landed somewhere on your face, and you're going to be sporting a nice and dark bruise later, if you live that long.  
It's kind of funny how before, you were the one knocking Mituna's brains out. Now look at you.  
  
You choke out "Take the fucking car" and a little bit of blood spittle flies out with it. Honestly, you're improvising. The situation seems lost to you.  
Everyone is looking at you in the mildest of shocks, and Mituna says something but it's muffled by the back of your jacket and he's said enough already, if he brings more attention to himself he'll just get shot sooner.  
You have a definite feeling you're going to get shot. You'll be first, because you're not budging.  
  
But the man who originally pointed a gun at you surprises you. Just as someone aims in your direction, you sort of tune out their face because there's just too many new people and it's not important when you're chock-full of adrenaline, he puts his hand up like Caesar in a Colosseum.  
Was that Caesar? You think it was.  
  
"Hang on boys, hang on."  
  
He gives you a scrutinizing glare, looking down at your chest as if he can see through it to the boy behind you, and you figure it's more to make a point than to actually try to see. You meet his cryptic eyeing with a glare and hold your own.  
There's three ways this can go, he wants to kill you himself, he wants to spare you, or he wants to do something other and more than just kill you.  
  
The staredown lasts for an uncomfortably long time, judging by the uneasy glances the group is giving each other and Mituna's little pat-pats on your back turning to punch-punches. But eventually, the grey eyes man clicks his tongue and stubs out his cigarette.  
  
"Very kind of you, I think we'll do just that."  
  
And with that he jumps into the car, sitting in the driver's seat. The rest of the people hesitate, only a couple of them move to get in as well.  
"Hey genius, there's not enough room here for all of us," someone pipes up from the back, and the 'genius' shrugs.  
"You're right, there's not."  
He grabs a gun from one of his lackeys and shoots a small fellow close to you right in the face. Odds are it's the one that spoke up.  
This prompts the rest of them to get moving, and soon the car is full and more than.  
You step back from the car, keeping a wary eye on all of them. People are volatile.  
The leader leans out the window, nods to you and Mituna.  
  
"Sorry about this, you know how it is when you're tryin' to make it another day, and we ain't exactly wanted in this joint. No hard feelings, right?"  
You don't answer.  
"You uh…you take care of that little buddy of yours, okay chief? You too, sport."  
You narrow your eyes, and Mituna mutters something about not being a sport.  
This strikes you as strange, because the man that just killed one of his own is giving you a chance at life -an extremely small one, you have no food or long range weapons and he knows it's almost as certain as a bullet to the head. But still, he could as well have gone with that.  
When he realizes neither of you is going to say anything else, he nods again and sits back down, eyes on the road.

Your car drives off, leaving you to breathe in the dust. They drive in the opposite direction, away from this city.  
At least you weren't left in the middle of nowhere.  
You retrieve your clubs, grateful they were only seen as pointless to people who didn't know how to use them right, start walking towards the buildings towering a little ways away.  
Nothing else left to do now, is there?  
The sky darkens quickly, and a stinging gust of wind reminds you that you no longer have the comfort of mobile shelter.  
Behind you, you hear Mituna draw a breath, as if he's about to say something. It hangs in the air, silent, before he lets it go.  
  
He doesn't speak again for the remainder of the night, and neither do you.

 


	7. Setback

The weather continuously gets worse, every day. It's gotta be the moisture in the air, or something. You don't know. Never paid attention to that stuff. If it rained, it rained, if it shined, it shined.Of course, before, you didn't have a reason to worry about it. At most, you'd be inconvenienced because your hair got wet and it was nigh uncontrollable when it dried on its own.Now, you need to worry about survival.

It's wet, always, and surprisingly cold. You guess it's the wind, and the clouds that rarely allow sunlight through. You voice this to Mituna, once, when he asks you what's up with being so quiet.  
(What does that even mean? You feel like shit, but you're always quiet. Did he forget how you never talk?)  
You tell him you're fine, just fuckin' cold, and he gives you this odd look and offers his jacket.  
You deny it, and shove him. First of all, he's not your date. Second, you'd look ridiculous in his tiny jacket. It wouldn't even fit. Third of all, you don't want him to catch a cold or something, tiny little fucker that he is, wind might blow him away. 

This line of thinking is very ironic, considering it's you who gets sick.

You don't even realize it yourself. It's Mituna who points it out to you, when you've been shaking for a while. He asks if you're okay, and like last time, you tell him you're fine. Just chilly. Take my damn jacket, Kurloz, stop being a stubborn assjerk. No, Mituna, get that away from me, you'll get cold.  
And he says, “I'm not cold, Kurloz. It's not even that cold out. I think it's just you, I think...you're getting sick.”  
Huh. You hum, weighing his opinion. Yeah, it makes sense. Your face is hot but your back feels cold, you're sweating a lot and your eyelids feel like they stick to your sockets.  
You might actually be getting sick. That's bullshit though, you can't get sick now. You'll just...ignore it. Get over it. Cough and sweat it out, or whatever.  
Mituna frowns and throws up his hands, like he's dealing with a stubborn child. You almost stick your tongue out at him just because.

You're fine for about a day. Then you stop being fine. 

You and Mituna dodge around some corners, trying to be quiet, running occasionally when something notices you and gets 'food' written across its dead, white eyes. You haven't moved very fast, because you got lost at least four times. This is a new and big city, it happens.  
You're panting next to Mituna, who's resting against a wall and looking out to a more open street. Not deserted, has some rotters shambling about, but it might be enough to get some road underfoot.  
He says something to you, and you hear it, but somehow it's like your memory shorts out and you're not sure if you heard it or not. And you haven't started breathing normally again.  
You're pretty sure Mituna says something again, and you see him move to the street, but your vision is all tunnel-y and it's like your brain can't quite comprehend it. You know you say something, you think it's something along the lines of 'shit' or 'Mituna' since both things sound alike and almost mean the same thing, but the next thing you know you're lying on the ground. You don't remember doing that.  
You're still breathing hard, but it feels better to be lying down, since you're not in danger of falling over. Your face is muddy, though.  
You push yourself back up to your hands and knees, which takes a lot more effort than you thought it would. You're shaking a bit, but it's okay, it's all fine. Mituna doesn't think so. When did he get there? He's crouching in front of you with his eyes wide and honest, like he can't believe you're writhing around on the ground in front of him, like what the hell, dude?

You ask him if he can hand you something to eat. You know it isn't eating time, but you feel weak, like you're just a husk and need some filling to be able to stand. Then you throw up. And again, and again, until you're not really sure where you are anymore.  
When it's over, after your body attempts to make you vomit things that just aren't in your stomach and it's all retching and bile and your stomach cramping without results, your forehead is wet with sweat and you can hardly breathe from the gunk in your nose. It almost makes you vomit again.

You're lying with your head on Mituna's knees. He's kneeling in the dirt, and there's vomit on his pants.  
He tries to pull you back down when you stand up, but you have none of it. You need to get away from the smell, you need some fresh air. He gets up right after you, holding onto your elbow. You wonder why he needs help walking, but then realize he's steadying you.

No need, you can walk just fine. Mituna leads you to a nearby house, somewhat sturdy looking. Boarded up, looks completely empty, better than the broken windows and smashed doors of other houses. Sure, you can go with that. You wouldn't mind sitting down for a while. Your knees don't cooperate, they slam together and you go down.

Mituna whispers harshly in your ear, you can feel his breath hot and hissy, and see the unsteady feet turn curiously and begin shuffling towards you while you just can't get up.

You might be in trouble.

 

It looks like Mituna got you inside. That's great. You didn't know he had enough body strength for that.  
He doesn't look so good, ruffling through your bag and cursing under his breath, quick and panicked. You greet him, and he looks so startled he might as well have grown rabbit ears and a twitchy nose. He clambers over to you, shoving a cup at you.

“You're fuckin' sick as a dog, Kurloz, you just had to pick this exact day and time. You need to drink someth- no no, I'll hold it, are you kidding me, you couldn't hold a paper airplane right now.”

He puts the cup to your lips. You scowl, but he looks so unsettled you'll lower yourself to this just to put him a little more at ease. You don't know what he's so worried about.  
As soon as the water goes down your throat, it turns around and comes up again. You lurch and sputter, trying to spray the water from your mouth but it just dribbles out and your stomach is twitching again, making you gag and cough. Mituna starts cursing again, and you hear something scratching at the walls.  
He catches you when you fall over, and before you can apologize for wasting the water your eyes are shut again and you just can't find the strength to open them.

Mituna's sitting by the wall opposite of the one whose corner you're huddled in. He's holding your club all wrong. He won't get any good swings in like that. You think to tell him so, but your voice dies out. He doesn't seem to even hear your attempt, staring at the window that's casting flickering light everywhere.

Why is it flickering? You wonder if a lightbulb is breaking somewhere. It's actually just things moving around in front, but you don't know that.

You feel like you're heavy and melting, but you can still understand Mituna when he talks to you. He tries to feed you water, but a lot of the time you choke on it. He keeps disappearing somewhere, probably trying to scout or scavenge or whatever it is he does, he doesn't say. He does say other things, while trying to keep you awake. He tells you a lot of things. Sometimes you think he doesn't think you can hear him.

“Don't know why I tried. Or any of us, really. I mean, we're all fucking dead, Kurloz. What kinda life is this? We're all dead. I know we are.”

You swallow the water, distracting your gag reflex by listening to Mituna. You don't like what you hear.

“I thought about- about dying earlier. You know. Before the whole zombie gig started, way before. I thought it'd be easier, but now I'm fighting tooth and stinkin' nail just to keep myself alive, and I don't even know why. They're all dead. I am too.”

You're done drinking, so he puts the cup down, but he just stares at it.

“D'you...think it'd be easier? To just, just leave? Because I...”

He looks small and scared. He is small and scared. You're getting detached from your body again, like you're dreaming and don't have a full grasp on what's happening, but something makes you reach out and clumsily pat Mituna's head. For some reason, you shush him. Probably because you don't like where he's taking his talking-to-himself, don't like it when he gets so down. He's not supposed to be down, he's supposed to be happy and stupid, you want him to be happy and stupid.  
Instead, he just starts crying a little bit, but you can't tell because your hand's already fallen down on the ground and you're not really all there anymore.

 

You're lying on the floor now. You only see a dark ceiling above you, and some crates and empty boxes next to you. You were right, this house was really empty. You're shivering a lot. You feel cold, even though something's draped over you.  
Someone's sitting next to you, leaning on you. They're warm.  
Gamzee? When did he come back? Little motherfucker gets so clingy sometimes. You adore it. You really hope your dad doesn't walk in. Gamzee isn't quite as clingy when he's around.

 

Mituna wakes you up, gives you water, gives you food. You're concerned about the food, it feels like it's too much too often and you ask him what he's going to be eating. He doesn't look like he's eaten much. He shuts you up and makes you eat the damn thing, but your jaws are somehow very feeble. You fall back asleep after eating half a potato.

 

Meulin tells you about her little sister and how she has a crush on some kid. Meulin gets so excited over things, in her little cat sweaters, eating her food and gossiping to your eager ears. God, you love her. You love her a lot. Why did you ever leave? Why did she? ...Did she? You can't remember.

Her eyes are white.

 

Mituna once chews some beef jerky, then spits it out and feeds it to you. It's gross, and you tell him so. He makes a joke about you swallowing, but he doesn't smile while he does it.  
Afterwards, he lies down next to you, but you still feel cold. He asks you something, but you just tell him sorry. You're not sure why. He doesn't question it.

 

You keep falling. You don't know how that's possible, because you don't know where you are, but you're always falling and there's a man made of bones everywhere. Sometimes, hands smaller than yours will find your face and try to calm you down and stroke your hair and your cheek, but you can't feel it. You just feel excited, and scared, and guilty. But you don't remember any of it.

 

You feel naked. Where did your voice go?

 

Someone's screaming, and it doesn't stop.

 

 

 

When you next blink your eyes open, you're lying down, and small rays of pale light are shining through some badly boarded windows. You are exhausted. It feels like you've been wrestling with bears, or some similarly big animal.  
You decide sitting up right away would be a bad idea, since you feel like you could hardly fold a sheet with your weak arms as is. Instead, you look around, specifically in search of that one splash of colour that follows you everywhere. Or do you follow him everywhere?  
He's sitting next to you, hunched over with his arms folded on his knees. Sometimes he'll curl into such a tight ball you have a hard time believing he's not the size of a dog, and you're fairly sure you yourself could never squeeze yourself into taking such little space.

He looks as tired and washed-out as you feel, so you ask him if he's okay, though it sounds more like a wheeze with the word 'kay' mixed in.  
He snorts, not a joyous kind of snort but a tired one that sounds like he just doesn't have the energy to laugh, and rubs his eyes.

“You're asking _me_ if _I'm_ alright? You piece of shit, you absolute fucking...”

He just stops, and you're concerned enough to lean onto your elbows and half-sit up. It's a near-miss, though, you almost don't make it without falling back down.

“Do you know how long it's been?” he asks, but it doesn't sound like a question you're supposed to ask so you stay quiet.

“Actually, I don't know either. It's dark as dicks in here no matter what time of the day, it's hard to...hard to...yeah. I think it's been at least three days.”

You don't really get what's been three days, though, your mind is still a little foggy. As always, he doesn't need you to talk to understand you.

“You got sick, man, real sick. I don't know how much you remember, but you were kinda in-and-out like a fuckin' dildo, didn't always answer me when I talked to you, which ain't big fuckin' news 'cause you never talk anyway but you were like, gone, dude, like you were asleep with your peepers open.”

You're a little shocked to hear it's been that long. You knew you were sick, you remember falling down and all that, and even some of Mituna's nursing. But it doesn't feel like there's a time to it, it's like it was all in your head and it could have been a split second or an entire week.  
Three days, though. That's a long time to be holed in here.

“Are you feeling better? 'M not sure if I can handle you freaking out again if you're not, I mean y'gotta be done with it now, right?”

The kid sounds completely drained. You'll feel sorry for him as soon as you don't feel like you're made of paper.

“Freaking out?” you ask, and he looks away, rests his head on his arms.

“You're not a quiet sleeper. I mean you usually are under normal circumstances, but you kinda- I guess it was the fever, or whatever, I'm not a doctor- you were, you were screaming. A lot. Thought you were turning on me.”

Your eyes widen and oh, yeah, that happens. You sometimes have these really awful dreams that will tear out sounds from your usually silent mouth and force your vocal chords into submission. You hate it when that happens. You never want to make a sound, but your body doesn't listen while you sleep so you can't fight it. It feels like a violation of your privacy. You hate nightmares.  
Mituna probably has it in for them now, too, if he had to deal with you. Only one other person has had to witness you when that happens, and that didn't end well. At all.  
You really hope you didn't do anything to Mituna. When it happened to Meulin, you freaked out so bad you got yourself hurt. You're not sure how you'll handle having hurt Mituna.

“You okay?” you ask again, and this time it sounds a little stronger. He sucks in a breath and takes out a cup of water that had seemingly been waiting by his side, holding out to you.

“Think you can hold it yourself?” 

You try, it's hard but you managed to down the water before you spill it everywhere.  
Next he hands you...you think it's canned tomato sauce. Hard to tell, the can's beat to hell.

“Sorry, it's pretty much all we have left. Use it or lose it.”

 _All_ you have left? There must be something more than this one can of some kind of tomato, you'll never survive trekking through the city, not unless you somehow stumble upon an unraided convenience store.

“Mituna.” You try to get him to look at you, but he just keeps putting things in the bag, dusting it off, not looking at you.

“Pretty sure I need to make another short run to see if I missed anything we can use, 'specially food. Think you can hold the fort for a few minutes?”  
“Mituna.”

“I don't wanna leave you here, but you're lucid now, so-”

“Mituna motherfucking Captor would you shut your mouth.”

He does shut his mouth, with an audible click, but he still doesn't look at you. You give him a few seconds, because you know he'll crack.

“Thought you were turning. Y'know, zombie. I don't have my gun anymore, I would've had to- I'd have to- and you were being so loud, they were gunna hear us and I had to c-cover your mouth but I thought, if you were changing I was dead meat anyway, so it didn't matter. Doesn't matter. Eat your fucking tomatoes.”

And then he stands up and leaves, despite your protests. You don't know what got into him, but he seems pretty upset.  
You eat the fucking tomatoes. You debate on not doing it, because you know he won't have anything to eat once you're done with them, but you feel like you'll slip away if you don't get something in you. If Mituna doesn't have the energy to walk, you'll probably be able to drag him somewhere. If you can't walk, Mituna would have to drag you, and you're the stronger fighter out of the two of you, so you feel like this option is the better one. As soon as you find more food, you'll make him eat.

 

When he comes back, he's smiling. You see through it like cellophane, but he shakes off your questions. Says you need to get moving, after being in the same place for three days.  
He can't have had it easy, you realize. You were sick as all hell, and you still feel awful and like your organs have shrunk in size, but he was watching over you the entire time. From the looks of it, he wasn't eating or sleeping any more than you were.  
He's strong enough to support you when you finally walk out, though. You need to lean pretty heavily on him and you're both out of breath pretty soon, but you're on the move again, at least.  
You wonder if you'll even make it out of here. Malnourished, out of food, out of good weapons, out of strength...the odds aren't looking good.

For some reason, while you're walking, you suddenly remember what he said to you, about dying and all that. You're pretty sure you're not completely at full health yet, you're still a bit sickly, so your filter is a little off. That's probably why you bop Mituna on his beanie, get him to look at you, and say “Thanks for makin' me live.”  
He just makes a face at you and keeps walking. 

You don't think he got what you really meant.

 


	8. Safe haven

You usually aren't bothered by the grimness of your surroundings. It's just not something that gets to you, like when you watched horror movies. A boy had asparagus or something of the like stuffed into his nose until it bled, and was then stomped to death by a horse. Someone had to physically leave the room and go take a breather. You were unfazed.

But living it is different. You suppose you aren't completely untouched by everything, though you'd like to pretend to be. You've noticed yourself that you're more jumpy, more easily irritated, more careless and more apathetic. You're not completely broken like some have been, but you can feel slight, hairline cracks.  
The other day, you and Mituna went inside a house. It was barren of anything that wasn't full out rotten, food-wise, and nothing that could be of use to you out on the road.  
There was a small, to-the-side office room that you could enter from the flower-wallpapered kitchen. You went inside.  
There was an old woman. Thin, frail, weakened and clutching a sawed-off shotgun. She was sitting on the floor, in the corner, and she wailed when you entered.  
Your eyes widened, you're sure. Your lips likely thinned and your jaw clenched, nostrils flaring -that's the look you got when something got to you a little too much.  
You heard Mituna gasp softly. You didn't look at him until he put his hand on your shoulder, pushed himself towards the dark, stinking room.  
It's okay, he said to her, and then, we just want to help-  
The old woman had a look of just...pure fear. You know that look. She was besides herself with terror. People in that state are unpredictable at best.  
So when she moved, you grabbed Mituna, the shotgun shifted and you pulled him to your chest, ready to shield him if you had to despite any noises he made at you.  
The woman blew her head off.  
Just like that, her eyes were gone, glossy and whitened with age and then somewhere on the wall. Her quivering chin was maybe dangling there, still, you don't know. It's not like you examined her at all.

Mituna ran out of the room and threw up, or at least tried to. Not much in his stomach. You could hear him coughing and heaving, almost hyperventilating.  
You couldn't stop staring just below her head, at her thin and veiny feet, covered in slippers. Her nightgown, a pretty white with periwinkle blue flowers, was slowly being soaked in blood.

That disturbed you.

But you got over it. Mituna came to get you and pulled you away, while gagging and cursing, and now you're back on track. Continuing as if nothing happened, save for Mituna determinedly latching onto you as you go to sleep. You let him, as long as he keeps his elbows to himself.

You're running on empty fumes and you're both in desperate need of clean clothes and a hot bath, but that's just wishing on stars. You'd count yourself lucky if you came across some nice fruit. You think your teeth might be falling out because of scurvy, and Mituna gets bruised if you so much as breathe on him.

You stumble into a survivor group's territory. Someone shoots a warning shot at the ground in front of you, and Mituna yelps and falls on his ass. It seems to convince the shooter that you're not dead already.

She asks you what you're doing here. Mituna answers 'walking'. You're so glad you have him to speak on your behalf.

She tells you to piss off, and Mituna asks her if they have any food. You glare at him, because you're not comfortable with begging for scraps, no matter how weak your legs are getting. Mituna silences you with a glare of his own, and by loudly reminding you that your teeth are falling out. He says it weird, though. No cursing, higher voice, sounds more sad than angry. You frown your confusion at him. Then the lady with the sniper rifle asks, “how old are you two?” and Mituna answers, in a thin and sweet voice, “sixteen.”  
  
Oh, that sly bastard.  
  
He can totally pass for sixteen, but you can't, so Mituna calls you twenty. Says you're his step brother and you're both looking for your little sister, but you're out of food and you're just so, so hungry. It's scary, how well he works it. Maybe it's because it's not a total lie. You do feel like his older brother a lot of the time, and, you are hungry. Very hungry.  
You're let in. The lady looks like she'd rather do anything but that, but she does it, and Mituna's sure to thank her a lot. You stay silent but you nod to her; you do have some manners.  
Inside, it's not all that, but it's better than the cold hard ground.  
The lady very pointedly makes you walk first, while pointing a gun at you, but her finger's off the trigger and the barrel of the gun isn't poking your backs, just aimed at them. She's not serious.  
She doesn't look like the kind of person to really last this long, long black, checkered blouse, nervous eyes and glasses. But you can see muscle underneath the shirt, and her steps are strong and confident. She's got more life to her than most people you've seen so far. More to her than meets the eye.

You suppose she's also not great with keeping guard, because when some other survivors catch a glimpse of the three of you someone yells, “Blast it, Jade!”  
Immediately, there's a whole group gathered around you. What a group, too. You haven't seen this many people alive and in one place since the whole thing started.

An older man, broad with kind eyes and an impressive mustache but scratched and blood stained hands continues yelling at the girl, who yells right back, while you and Mituna awkwardly stand by.  
  
“Uh, we don't want any trouble, we're just here to-” Mituna starts in his sixteen-year-old boy voice, but he's shut up immediately by the man's hand. Not like, his hand on his face. You would have beat him for that. The man just holds up his hand and fixes the two of you with a hard look.  
  
“I don't wanna hear it. What's your name, boy?” he asks, and Mituna answers, thankfully, with his real name. Lies only get you so far before they start getting all muddled up and tangled, at least when you're someone like Mituna.  
The man frowns a bit at the strange name, yeah okay you never really paid it much heed but both of your names are very unorthodox, but shakes his head minutely and turns to you. You're not as good as evaluating your situation and acting accordingly. You give him a defiant look, tilt your chin upwards just a little. You shouldn't, but you do.  
  
“And you? Who're you?”  
  
You don't answer. Even if you liked him, you wouldn't answer, not right away.  
  
“Uh, he's Kurloz-” Mituna pipes up, but is again presented with a silencing hand.  
“I asked this boy what his name was. Am I getting an answer?”  
  
You narrow your eyes at him, and your mouth stays silent.  
He looks like he's about to chew you out, but something shifts in his gaze; he stops looking into your eyes, looks at them instead. His brow shivers, his mouth pinches at the corners. With a voice much lower and less challenging than before, he utters: “You infected?”

The surprise must show on your face, you can almost feel it drop. A man somewhere to your side whispers, “He's infected?” and Mituna's twisting his neck, looking around himself in alarm; the whispers pick up until someone shouts, “Infected!”.

All hell breaks loose.

You're pushed forwards and then to the side, so quickly you have no time to balance yourself, you hands shoot out to grab something but something grabs them instead and twists them behind your back, you try to reach for a weapon, any weapon, but it's all happening too fast for you and there's people all around you, shouting.  
You can hear Mituna's higher, panicked voice somewhere, but you can't turn towards it because someone grabs your hair, fists a hand in it an pulls your head up.  
The crowd around you disperses, you managed to land a few kicks and punches but you still end up on your knees, head forced up by the people holding you down.  
You see the man with the scratched hands in front of you, holding a pistol. It's aimed at you.  
Mituna's being held down, too, but he's kicking and flailing like an angry cat, shouting at you and at them and with every curse he knows.

“He's not infected, he's not infected, stop stop let me GO, fuck off you pissing ballsack, KURLOZ- let him _go_ -”  
  
You hear the girl's voice shouting too, telling the old man if to calm down, and the man barks back “I'm trying to protect you, Jade-” and his gun is still aimed at your forehead, and his finger's on the trigger and his aim isn't wavering.  
  
He's serious.

“W-wait...” you manage to choke out, because you're scared now. This isn't a matter of arrogant pride anymore. You're going to die. Your knees are shaking and though this would be a great time to start screaming, you can't find your voice. Your plea was just a whisper, barely.  
Mituna looks terrified. There's blood on his lip, knowing him it's from biting someone, and he's staring right at you, breathing heavily. Your mind is racing too hard to make out what he's saying, but you see his mouth form your name. You see the sinews in the bearded man's hand rise, see the breath he takes as he tightens his finger on the trigger.  
You hear everyone shouting, eyes wild and open, cheering him on.

You're scared, so you close your eyes.

Someone shouts. It's a woman.  
You open your eyes.  
The shouting of the crowd lowers in volume almost instantly, people turn their heads from you and towards someone in the back.  
The sea of people parts, it's miraculous. There's a woman standing there, and though she's filthy and dressed in mismatched rags like everyone else she's almost godly.  
The man with the beard even turns towards her, and a second later you hear the pounding of footsteps, and then a vaguely rainbow figure literally crashes into him at full sprinting speed.  
Both Mituna and the man end up in a heap on the floor, both cursing and kicking.  
You're still on your knees but you're not being held anymore; you're just tired and feeling weak. That's kind of pathetic, you think.  
Mituna ends up standing in front of you after flinging himself at the old man, his small body shielding yours and it only works because you're still on the ground, otherwise he'd only be covering your mid-section and leaving your head completely vulnerable. You're torn between moving him away from the line of fire and giving into the the weird, consuming appreciation for his fierce protectiveness.

“What is going on here?” a woman's voice, deep and authoritative, demands more than asks. You can see her from the gap between Mituna's arm and torso, and she's beautiful. Old and graceful, like she could kill you in a second if you gave her a reason but also like she'd hold you and tell you stories on a dark night. You don't know why you think this but you do.  
  
Mituna's still panting, almost snarling, but he stills a little as the woman walks towards the two of you.

“Hass!” she snaps at the man with the mustache, “Can I ask you why there was about to be a public execution of a young man right in my safe haven?”  
The man, Hass, clears his throat and straightens his back.

“Intruders were brought into our home, Rosa, I was-”  
“He's a boy!”  
“He's _infected_! Look at his eyes! He can't talk, he stumbles-”  
“He's _malnourished_! _I_ am the doctor here, Hass, in case you forgot that, and you won't be shooting anyone on unfair grounds in _my_ safe haven!”

She glowers at the man as she walks towards you, regards you for a moment, then asks you if you can talk.  
Mituna answers for you.

“He _can_ , he just doesn't like to. And he's not fucking infected, he got sick but not that kind of sick. Your old man's crazy.”

She purses her mouth at the corner but seems to accept what he says. She then focuses on you again.  
  
“I need to examine you and see if you're bite-free. Can I do that?”  
  
You nod. You already know you're not infected, and if it turned out that you were, you'd let them kill you. Or at least shove you out.

But she checks you over, and you're clean. Dirty, of course, but clean of bites. The look she and Mituna both give the old man screams “I told you so”. You're just glad things have calmed down, so you're back to your silent, stony demeanor.  
She leaves you alone for a bit, after telling you that she will be back and to stay still, and while you're given many a suspicious look people leave you alone. Rosa must have real authority here. Or maybe it's Mituna who's nearly frothing at the lip while standing next to you like a guard dog. You can't help but smile a tiny bit at that. It's kind of funny.

When the woman returns, she's carrying a small bag. She looks around almost guiltily, but still stares off anyone giving sour looks.  
  
“Look, you can't stay here, but I got you a little snack for the road. I hope you appreciate it, because this scene is going to take a long time to soothe down.”  
  
Mituna accepts the bag with awe, and immediately peeks inside. He gasps loudly and yanks out a box of something.  
  
“Are those Peeps?! Oh my god! Kurloz it's Peeps.”  
  
He shoves the package under your nose, and you shove it right back into his face with a disapproving frown.  
Rosa smiles at you for a second. Then she gets up, dusts herself off, and shoos you away.

“Alright, now be on your way. And be careful. There's no stranger's kindness to depend on, not anymore.”

Mituna thanks her cheerily, seemingly over his rage, and you nod. You leave Rosa's safe haven better off than you entered it, and just before the doors close on your backs, you hear her sigh, “Dear, why is it always children?” and then, “Perhaps you can keep an eye on them.”

You're pretty sure she was talking to herself. 

 

  
That night, you sleep peacefully and without any disturbance, and though you forget it almost as soon as you wake up in the early morning, you dreamt of a kind smile and rough hands church bells in summer.


End file.
